


Jack

by dagon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Self-Indulgent, Some Fluff, Vaginal Sex, very flimsy plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12272604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagon/pseuds/dagon
Summary: "Sometimes you would allow yourself to remember him - how this man entered your life amongst the sprays of bullets and smoke and fire. To replay the memories of that night.""Dorado was your home. You hadn't always lived here but now it was yours [...] And it was quiet… for a while."Reader insert fic.





	Jack

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to just be a short drabble and ended up taking forever to finish. There's a very weak plot but it was mostly just set up for the porn.

_The acrid smell of melting plastics and splattered gasoline filled your nose._

You wiped the sweat from your brow; the heat of the flames licking out from the smashed window added no comfort or relief from the midday sun's glare. Embers quickly sailed upward from the burning curtains and were lost to the breeze. Night time would have been better suited for watching but you couldn't stick around for long anyway - shouts of alarm were already sounding out all around you.

Dorado was your home. You hadn't always lived here but now it was _yours_. Keeping a small apartment above the repair workshop where you made your living kept your life simple and collected. All necessities were a stone’s throw away in this outskirt of the major city. And it was quiet… for a while.

The Los Muertos may have been revolutionaries but they also attracted the kind of thugs that took advantage of the hard times people were struggling through. Your neighbourhood was spared a little longer than most others - you read the headlines in the news, you were aware of what the rest of Dorado was dealing with - but eventually the gang crept into your little area and into your life.

It just wasn’t in you to hide inside; to watch and do nothing. So you started taking shots back. Mainly sabotage, ruining supplies and costing them time, locations, money. Whatever would deter them from setting up shop and hanging around in your corner of the city. That's how you first ran into him.

You would never forget that eerie crimson glow that cut through the dark alleyway. You weren’t even sure what it was at first and when it streaked across the night your first reaction was to run and hide. Your instinct was affirmed when you heard the screams and pandemonium that broke out in the direction that the light had gone.

As you made your own escape you did manage to catch a glimpse of the source of the red light - you were expecting an Omnic but saw instead the figure of a masked man. The distinctive visor was enough to identify him from the wanted posters around town: international fugitive Soldier: 76.

And then you kept on running into him. He was everywhere, at every location you rooted out and planned to light up. It was on the third time that he intercepted your getaway that he first spoke to you, his voice interlaced with a frustrated growl.

“I’m starting to think that this isn’t just you being in the _wrong place at the wrong time_ anymore.”

He was annoyed. And you were too. There were times when you both came close to disastrous consequences for not working in tandem with one another. Your approaches were too different and didn't mesh well - not that you could work on his kind of level even if you wanted to. If this man was a stick of dynamite - volatile, dangerous, overwhelmingly efficient - then you felt like a lone sparkler in comparison, burning away steadily. Still, a spark was enough to burn entire houses down in the right circumstances.

You remember his stern words to you one night when he once again caught you in the streets and cornered you. His menacing figure loomed over as he huffed out a lecture on ‘keeping your nose outta bad business’ and not being a liability for him. The red visor obscured his eyes but it felt like he was looking straight through you, reading you from the inside out.

“Go home. And _stay out_ of this."

 

* * *

 

_Chaos broke out._

Someone else had intervened. Someone you didn’t want to get involved with. It was bad, all so, so bad; everything went to hell so fast; you could barely keep up and keep your head on and _get the hell out of there_.

Dust blew up from one of the blasts and blanketed the area, covering your escape as you ducked into the fleeing crowd. You limped back to your home, half dragging the blood soaked man who was struggling to keep consciousness. You could barely remember the details on how you made it all the way back to your apartment and got him pell-mell onto the couch, the both of you collapsing with exhaustion after.

Seventy-Six's rifle lay on the floor beside him where he had finally lost the strength in his grip and succumbed to trauma his body had taken. He was out cold, judging by his body, but you felt a bit unnerved not being able to see his face. You were tempted to remove the mask yourself but decided against it in the end. There was still a manhunt on for the vigilante Soldier: 76 and seeing his face could change the precarious dynamic between the two of you. The rifle still intrigued you though.

You crept over to pick it up, giving it a good look over before hefting it into your arms. The strange, massive gun was obscenely heavy. You remembered seeing him running with it, carrying it around while weaving and jumping to outmaneuver the constant rain of bullets directed at him. Despite the circumstances, you had to admit it was quite enjoyable to watch Seventy-Six work. The man was a beast and you were acutely aware of how glad you were that you didn't have to go up against him yourself.

And yet, here he was, unconscious in your home and at your mercy. The massive bounty on his head did cross your mind as you idly watched the blood seep from his clothes and into the fabric of your couch.

When Seventy-Six finally did rouse he was greeted with his own pulse rifle pointed at his face, the end of it resting on the kitchen table while you held the trigger and sat leaning forward in one of your battered chairs.

He slowly sat up with a groan, putting a hand to his head as he got his bearings. Gloved hands moved to pat himself down, checking for injuries. His jacket was unzipped and the shirt and armour inside were bloody - you shared with him that you had looked for the source of bleeding but found nothing. No open wounds at least, which was odd. What you didn't share was that you were more than a little impressed with the physique you found under that armour plate. Seventy-Six rose to his feet and zipped up the namesake jacket again.

“Mind if I use the sink?”

He had asked so casually, as if he was just on a social call with an old friend. You gritted your teeth and reminded him that there was a gun pointed at him.

“If you were gonna kill me, you would have done it already and not dragged me back here.” He walked over to you, completely unphased as you followed his movement with the rifle. He stayed relaxed and unguarded while standing at the end of the barrel that you now had aimed squarely at his chest, finger still on the trigger.

Seventy-Six sighed. “Give that back before you hurt yourself.” And he just took it from you. Plucked it right out of your hands like taking a plastic butter knife away from a child. It was infuriating. But showing any anger felt like letting him ‘win’ even more, so you kept a mask of calm on and regarded him coolly.

The white of his jacket was dirty and stained, now more of a light greyish brown, with dark trails of dried blood sprawling across it. He went into the kitchen and stripped his gloves off to rinse his hands before tearing a handful of paper towels off a roll and going about wiping away the worst of the grime and sweat from his hands, neck, and forearms. It was odd watching him do something so… ordinary. It made him seem a lot more human again though. He spoke to you in that low, gravelly voice as he attempted to clean himself up a bit.

“You really need to stop all this. Getting involved. You nearly got yourself killed out there. I’m not going to take responsibility to keep your ass safe every time…” He was trying to sound harsh but you could tell there was no conviction in his words. “What you’re doing isn’t gonna _solve_ anything. You’re just poking at them, aggravating them. _What will you even accomplish_?” Seventy-Six turned to look at you again, shaking his head slightly.

You crossed your arms over your chest asked him what _he_ was trying to accomplish then. You felt like a petulant child being chastised and it only made you angrier.

“I’m here to clean up and finish things.” He stepped on the foot pedal for the garbage can and tossed the dirty wadded up paper towels away. “I told you before, _stay out of this_.

 

* * *

 

_A few days later, he came back to warn you._

Seventy-Six parted the curtains with the back of his hand, staying back from the window itself, and nodded down at the street. There were two Los Muertos members standing at the corner chatting and looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“They’ve got people watching your neighbourhood now, since I was around here. Keep a low profile.”

You rolled your eyes and _politely_ thanked him for his concern but assured him that you would be fine. If you were more honest you would have let him know that you were quite touched that he cared enough to return.

“I’ll leave again when the coast is clear.”

With a shrug you replied that you weren’t going to change your usual routine just because he had showed up out of nowhere. It was still early in the morning - you hadn’t even had a chance to properly ‘get up’ for the day. You were going to have a shower and a coffee and _then_ you’d deal with whatever trouble was starting up outside.

You ran the water cold and tried to think about what you were going to do next. It wasn’t just the gangs to watch out for - the authorities would definitely have something to say if they knew you aided and abetted Soldier: 76. How deep into this were you willing to get? Would you have to move again?

These thoughts weighed heavily on you as you exited the bathroom, covered only by a towel wrapped around you at your chest. You found the old soldier still in your apartment and watching out a window. The red visor turned at your movement.

A quiet ‘oh’ escaped you and an ‘excuse me’ was to follow but your words died on your lips - you reeled a little having forgotten he was still there. Seventy-Six immediately turned on his feet to face away from you - to preserve your modesty, perhaps? It was kind of cute if so, especially coming from an ‘infamous vigilante’. Looking at him now made something in your chest go tight.

Your bedroom was just to the right of you but your mind went blank as your feet moved on their own across the worn rug in the tiny living area and up to the masked stranger’s back. You didn’t _want_ to think about anything right now. Instead you took in the odd ozone scent that hung around him. You relished the raw strength he exuded; it had excited you out in the field and you wanted to experience it again. Or to even just have a chance to touch his body again, to _really_ feel it.

You let the towel drop to the floor, then held your breath as you pressed your naked form against his back, palms braced on his shoulders, your cheek resting lightly between. The worn leather embossed and sewn into the signature 76 was roughened and dusty, leaving a layer of fine powder on your damp skin. You felt his body tense up at your contact. It didn't release.

“ _What the hell_ do you think you're doing…” It came out as a growl but he sounded more tired than angry this time. He stepped away and bent down, then suddenly your towel was roughly shoved back into your arms. Seventy-Six held you at arm's length quite literally.

“Put some _damn clothes on_ , kid.” He resolutely kept his gaze off of you.

Rejected.

No lie, it stung a little bit, but it was a wild shot to begin with. You hoped your sanity would catch up with you sooner than later and relief would wash over you instead of the burning embarrassment you were currently enduring.

Without another word he left.

 

* * *

 

_Solitary days passed by slowly._

It had been a while since you last saw Soldier: 76 in Dorado. Los Muertos activity dried up and then completely disappeared after a couple weeks. News reports of gang wars and heavy gun fire fights had grown in number and intensity and then just suddenly dropped off. He really must have finished the job, just like he said he would. You knew better than to start feeling bored from the peace and quiet though. This was what you wanted.

You were at home getting ready to settle in for the night and sank back into your couch with your phone in hand. Even wearing only a thin pair of running shorts and a cut-out tank top you were feeling uncomfortable in the evening heat and knew that you weren’t going to have an easy time sleeping tonight. You scrolled through news articles and tried to convince yourself that you weren’t looking for any more signs of trouble.

The sound of a window sliding open in the kitchen had you bolting upright, heart pounding in an instant. Your brain raced into defensive strategies as you sought out the closest, heaviest object around you.

A familiar but unexpected voice tried to reassure you before a light was switched on revealing Seventy-Six as he stepped into the doorway.

Bewildered and angry, you hissed out that _normal people knock on the door_ to places they don't live. He was about to say something back but you cut him off, asking him what the hell he was doing here.

“Just wanted to check in with you again before I leave Dorado. Make sure you’re okay...”

You wanted to punch him in the jaw for breaking into your place and scaring the shit out of you. You wanted to but you also were hit hard with conflicting emotions - fuck, you were glad to see him again.

Against better judgement (or just lack thereof) you ask him if he's sure he didn't come back for _something else_ too. You knew you could have phrased it in so many other ways, used a different intonation and stopped yourself from shamelessly approaching a little bit closer and clinching the innuendo with a more-than-suggestive smirk.

There was barely time for a squeak of alarm when you were suddenly picked up and roughly shoved against the wall of your tiny kitchen - some of the pots hanging from a rack on the wall rattled with the impact of your back onto the peeling, bright floral wallpaper. You were pinned against that wall by his broad chest while one of his legs bent forward to catch you - he had you practically sitting on his thigh. The heavy-duty zipper of his jacket dug into your sternum, the worn leather sticking to your exposed skin in the evening heat. Seventy-Six craned his head forward and rested it to the side of your own before he bent his leg a little further to put more pressure between your legs.

“You better tell me outright if you're just teasing me, ‘cause there's only so much I'm willing to tolerate.” His low rumbling voice through the mask sent tingling jolts down from your ear to groin, causing a surge of wetness that dampened your thin layers of clothing and threatened to seep through to the soldier's thigh.

The flushing in your face doubled for getting so excited over this initial contact. The pressure of his body, voice, and scent overwhelmed you though. You reached for the front of his pants - the gesture alone setting off a flurry of hands grabbing and pushing at clothing, carnal urgency welling up in both of you, dragging you down a path searching for the quickest way possible to skin to skin contact.

You straddled his hips, now stripped of your shorts and underwear, with your back still pushed up against the wall and your arms around his neck. The sidearm strapped to his thigh dug into your leg as you clung on. Seventy-six had his stiffening cock out, pants pulled down just enough to free himself, while breathing heavily behind his mask.

With a rock of your hips forward you initiated contact. Your own eagerness was made apparent with the hot, wet strip you left along the underside of his shaft. He must have felt it too, given the nearly pained groan he let out as you slid yourself along him. His gloved hands roughly grabbed you again and lifted you just enough to clear the length of him. The head of his thick cock pressed up against you, and then into you, aided by the slickness now running down your thigh. You let out a whine as he spread your walls and fully entered you, filled you. The stretch to accommodate him was more than you were used to and you had little time to adjust as your own body weight sank down onto him. You uttered curses under your breath while his own moan was stifled behind metal.

At the first bit of his movement you could only stay still, focusing on relaxing your body around him as he slowly pulled out and pushed back in. You were braced against the wall, his hands firmly gripping your ass as he also struggled, but in keeping his movements slow and smooth for you. This was nothing you couldn't handle though and the restrained control wasn't what you desired either. You wanted to let him know that by getting your teeth into him but his clothing and mask covered up any areas you could reach. You settled for a long, deliberate lick across the front of his mask up to the visor, the tingling metallic taste causing your mouth to water, and gave a breathy command for him to _just fuck you already_.

A low, rumbling growl resonated from him into your chest and core. You couldn't see his expression but you knew from the way he dug his fingers deeper into your flesh and by the twitch of his rock hard cock inside of you that he liked what he heard. Strong arms lifted and pulled you away from the wall with ease. Seventy-six carried you out of the room while still deep within you - you barely took notice as the hallway walls passed you by, too busy with grinding yourself against his hips. The feeling of fullness slipped away as he leaned over to drop you onto your bed.

Seventy-Six’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath as he stood still at the end of the bed, hesitating briefly before reaching up to grasp the front of his mask. With a click it released and he withdrew the visor along with the front plate - you couldn't look away.

Rugged. Handsome. Authoritative - the first words that came to mind as you studied the soldier’s visage. There could have been anything behind that visor so you felt like you won the fucking lottery with this catch. The scarred slash visible above his visor carved a brutal diagonal across his face from forehead to cheek. Another smaller slash ran parallel by the edge of his mouth. They were the kind of battle scars that luckily added to one's visual appeal, you thought. You really, _really_ liked them on Seventy-Six at least.

His gaze locked onto you, searching your face for some kind of reaction maybe, but you weren’t sure exactly what it was he was expecting. Shock? Surprise? At his age or the scars? He was actually a lot younger looking than you expected from the silver hair. After a moment his features softened. His whole posture relaxed and, to leave you even more confused, his shoulders shook in a restrained chuckle.

You asked him what was so funny.

“It's nothing,” he replied with a vague wave of his hand. “Just… not as infamous as I thought, I guess.” He gave you a small, short-lived smile but it seemed genuine.

Normally you would have questioned that more but you were easily distracted by watching him begin to remove the gear strapped onto himself. As he worked to unequip his eyes stayed on you as well. You smirked and took your time pulling your oversized tank top up and off over your head, leaving yourself fully nude, before snaking a hand up your torso to play with a hardened nipple. With no mask to hide behind now, you could clearly see his reaction to your little show. He worked faster to undress.

Warzones had left their marks all over the rest of his body as well. Old scars of silvery white criss crossed with fresher lines of red and pink. Seventy-Six was in impeccable shape despite his age too. You'd had a taste before but now it was all laid out before you.

You reached out to him as he practically lunged across the bed to touch you. His mouth roamed over your breasts, kissing and sucking at the tender flesh. Rough, calloused hands ran down your torso, gripping at your hips briefly before continuing down the sides of your thighs and finally settling into a light grip behind your knees. Without warning you were yanked down to the end of the bed, positioned at his whim, your body compliant and eager. Seventy-Six spared no time in positioning himself and entering you again, your breath hitching with the sudden thrust. There were no more slow, gentle movements. He took your request to heart and slammed into you, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room. You tried to cover up your moans with the back of your hand as the sensation of each push inside you built a tension throughout your entire body.

Your bodies tangled in the heat of the night, sweat slick on each other and sticking to the sheets. The humidity was near oppressive that evening but it felt fitting in the firm grasp and crushing embraces of this stranger. You had foregone trying to stay quiet now and played up some of your moans - you were rewarded with an even tighter hold around you as he bucked harder and faster.

With no known real name to call out, you gasped out bits of his alias. He laughed at that through heavy breaths and you allowed yourself to fall in love with the sound.

“It's Jack.”

You repeated it back in a low, drawn out sigh. It must have triggered something in the old soldier. He flipped you over and shoved you down hard into your bed, his forearm pressing firmly into your back. Fingertips ran along your scalp and grasped a handful of hair, tugging your head back to expose your neck to his bites, hard enough to bruise, to mark your skin with his presence. You choked on your gasps at the bites as he fucked you from behind, the overpowering weight of his body pinning you in place.

It was relentless; there was no slowing or stopping in his thrusts. You couldn't understand how he wasn't getting fatigued but you also couldn't care less, not while your bodies continued the rhythmic motions that brought him pounding so deep inside of you. You could only tightly grip your sheets as the tension in your body peaked - your cry was buried but the tight contractions around him made him well aware of your ecstasy.

Jack choked back his own cry as his thrusts lost rhythm to speed and culminated in a tense stilling - he had pushed as deep into you as possible, then came with a violent shudder. You could feel the spasms of his cock as it pumped his seed into you.

The two of you lay there for a while with him still heavy on top of you, catching your breath through slow, shaky inhales, the sweat and the heat creeping back into your awareness. He pulled out and rolled off of you, laying at your side, his eyes closed while still recovering. You turned to face him, watching for a moment before trailing your fingertips along his jaw. He sighed at the touch and you moved in to kiss him.

Jack’s eyes opened briefly then closed again as he returned the kiss, propping himself up on an arm to bear down over you once more. The tip of your tongue lingered on the sliver of hardened scar tissue that cut across the edge of his lip. You kissed it tenderly, wondering how much it must have hurt to suffer through these kinds of wounds, while your hands came up instinctively to cradle his face.

One of his own hands reached up to engulf yours as he pulled his face away from you. He brought your knuckles to his lips for a kiss just as tender.

“Sweetheart, don't start worrying about some old ghost like me, alright.”

You couldn’t help a coy smile from reaching your lips, it was just too cute - and almost surreal. This whole experience was.

The rest of the night was spent exchanging slow caresses and kisses until you finally surrendered to sleep.

 

* * *

 

_Life continued - quiet, peaceful, routine._

You didn’t see him again. Sometimes you would allow yourself to remember him - how this man entered your life amongst the sprays of bullets and smoke and fire. To replay the memories of that night. The morning after you had woken up to find him already dressed and geared up, face hidden by the mask and visor once again. There was a heartfelt thank you and goodbye. Brief and to the point and you knew damn well that it was the last time you’d ever see him.

On this morning, you were out walking through the streets near your home when the image on an old faded and peeling poster caught your eye - something about the stance of the person on it drew you to it. You reached out to push back the curling torn strip that split the poster in half, now seeing the picture whole.

The face on the poster was confident, proud, resolute. _A hero_ , you mused. Your fingertips slid from the corner and traced along the image. You knew it was the Strike-Commander, the leader and face of the now defunct Overwatch. Literal poster boy... hah. But the soldier on the poster had the same strong jawline as Seventy-Six. Same steely blue eyes. The face of the young man was unmarred though. Uncanny… Were you just getting obsessed?

No, this was too close. Way too similar. You were young during the time Overwatch was still running and in its prime but when you did the math in your head, it was certainly possible. Your eyes scanned the poster for more information.

The caption only read “Strike-Commander Morrison”.

A quick internet search on your phone had you nearly dropping it. Strike-Commander _Jack Morrison_ . No way - there was _no way_ … didn’t he _die_ ? You brought up news headlines confirming it but it all still felt a bit off. You tried to remember Seventy-Six’s, no… _Jack’s_ face in detail but it was already iffy relying solely on memory like that.

You stood frozen in the street, staring down at your phone screen with the image of one of the world’s most beloved and hated leaders on it, unable to convince yourself one way or the other on just who exactly you had met.

The rattle of a couple of bicycles passing by you shook you from your thoughts. You looked around at the people, the buildings on the street, your neighbourhood. In the past it had moved you, the thought of settling in one place and living a normal life. But even that failed to pass as you got yourself involved in dangerous affairs in the end anyway.

You gripped the phone in your hand tighter and decided. You wanted more answers. You needed to know the truth.

It was time to leave Dorado and track down Soldier: 76.

You were going find Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the "BFFs" timehopper and WordsfortheDead for the support and for listening to me whine the whole time about finally getting this /done/.


End file.
